Devour
by antierotic
Summary: Established relationship; Marceline feels possessive at a suitor's ball for her Princess. Intense lemon.


Somehow, she was able to tear away from her schedule and spend the weekend at your house. It was through a string of excuses, some faked appointments in other kingdoms among other things that she made the time especially for you. Instead of trying to cram some assortment of plans and activities into your days together, you spend most of the hours in bed. The time the two of you spend apart winds you up so tightly, and you sneaking to her royal bedroom some hours a week is barely enough. Your cold bed is warmed by touching and passion like fireworks, scalding moonlit embraces and lazy mornings.

You cringe at the rise of daytime, exhausted from your evening endeavors. Lying on your stomach under the sheets, you feel warm arms sneak over your abdomen. Under your flannel, a hand strokes your belly the way you like, and she presses her naked chest on your back.

"Baby," she cooed lightly into your ear. You grunt into the pillow reluctantly, knowing the usual tactics she uses when about to make you do something you don't want to. You roll over and show her your tired indignant expression. "Don't look like that! I didn't even ask yet!" she giggles and pecks your frown with a kiss. "Can you fly me home soon?"

The Princess gives the exaggerated cutesy tone as she stroked your bare chest. She hums in your ear as you groan sleepily, "I'un wanna..."

She giggles and nips you again before getting up, yawning and stretching her nude form in the light. You marvel at the sight, never tiring of the masterpiece. With each move, she models all of the bite marks on her rib cage, light flecks of claw marks down her back and the bloom of gentle bruises on her backside. Accelerated regenerative abilities would assist healing, but they both liked having the marks around. You get up beside her as she gathers some articles of clothing.

"I feel like a royal steed," you mutter, circling her waist with your arms. "Would you at least ride me again?" A terrible joke with a wink and toothy smile warrants her "Ugh..." in disgust with a roll of the eyes.

"Tonight is another formal ball, I have to go prepare." The Princess begins buttoning your shirt for you. "One of my, uh, suitors will be attending..."

You tense up and a growl gurgles in your chest. Suitors always pestered their relationship, it was a natural thing for a princess, but was actually a threat. Still, it always bothered you that they had to sit together at dinner and dance in front of the whole kingdom and you couldn't.

_'Marcy, not so hard please, ah. I promise, I only belong to you. Ah, it's sore... I am only yours...'_

You clap her butt tightly and she jumps a bit. "Stop that, it's still sore!" As she finishes, she smooths the chest of your shirt and pulls you down by the collar.

"I hope to host some Nightosphere royalty as well..." The Princess folds her arms over your shoulders. She hefts up to the balls of her feet and places another kiss. "Won't you protect me, royal steed?"

At the beginning of the ball, she is greeting all of her guests that come from kingdoms all over. A kiss on the cheek here, a handshake there and she has welcomed the most important diplomats of Ooo. You know that he will be arriving soon and with this in mind, you intend to stand out as much as possible, to disrupt as much as possible. That is, because well, that's the only way you know how to react. You enter the castle in the traditional Nightosphere royalty garb, black cloak over a dark military uniform emblazoned with gold all over. The air of extreme importance and danger seeps from ever seam of your outfit.

_'The more to intimidate with,'_ you think as you straighten the high, stiff collar that gives you the image Dracula himself would cower at.

As the line of guests continues into the ballroom, eventually it's your turn. You see your Princess chastely greet the Fire diplomat before you before her electric eyes crash into your stare.

She is gasping at the sight of your powerful stance, not used to the change from your usual bummy casual atmosphere. You remind her to give you her hand, and you don't break eye contact as you press your cool lips to her knuckles. As the interaction transpires, the thought of her cloaking all of the bruises and welts you inflicted under all of that regal dress. When she sits, she'll be sore, and remember who it was that tortured her.

'When he holds your lower back during your dance, the scratches on you will ache...'

Her irises are obviously hypnotized in a trance as you kiss down her hand and nibble at her fingers.

"Thank you so much for having me, Your Majesty," your voice rumbles against her palm.

"Oh, please," she practically begs as your lips spread into open-mouthed kisses up her wrist. Her voice quivers as you toy against the flesh. "The pleasure is all mine."

While each guest is preoccupied with speaking to one another, or distracted by something else, no one was noticing the intimacy raging between you two royals, and you take advantage of it by pulling her close by the wrist towards your chest. The Princess looks up at you, wide-eyed as you straighten your spine authoritatively and whisper calmly,

"Which one is he?"

Bubblegum's eyes shift nervously. "Please, don't do anything..."

You pull at her wrist once more, insisting on an answer. She gives in, defeated, and nods at one of the Fire diplomats. Her hands slide up to hold your gray face in her palms and smooths your cheeks with her thumbs. "Promise you won't..."

"As long as he behaves."

With a feigned air of particular interest in your lapels, she smooths them over your chest and adjusts your tie with a:

"I promise I'll be good." Her eyes still on your assortment of badges and medals, the Princess straightens your collar with a low whisper, "And if you'regood, I'll be especially good to you."

During the dinner you find that the trouble is not found with the suitor, but with Bubblegum herself.

Surprisingly enough, you are ravaged in your seat by impure urges for the ruler from across the table. Distractions are easy to come by; you recognize old friends from hundreds of years ago, you could spend your night terrorizing cowardly candy people or suck all the red you can indulge in. But the Princess' favorite past-time is having your undivided attention on her as she reluctantly entertains the Fire Ambassador. So she entertains herself by wanting you to want her, and enticing you to tear the men between you apart.

It began with the Ambassador telling some awful story about the journey to the Candy Kingdom- a story to which Bubblegum paid little mind to. But as he began describing his first time getting lost on the way, she felt your eyes watching, and responded with the soft, sensual touch of fingertips against her right ear. She trailed down, brushing back the curtain of hair behind her ear, and traced her nails down the hollow of her throat conspicuously.

Your attention was snared by the sight of delicious, vulnerable flesh radiating beautifully under the chandeliers. You could faintly sense the intensified thump of her heart as she noticed that your red stare flashed in response.

The ministrations of the princess effectively cut off all of your coherent interactions with the guests around you. Electric sparks raged through your heart, stomach and loins as her fingertips made it to her soft, delicate collarbone and traced the remnants of a deep, pitifully healed vampire bite.

_'Marcy, Marcy! Please, don't stop! I promise I'll be so good to you... Harder, it's- ah! No, please do it, it's okay, I like it. It feels good.'_

The suitor caught notice of her actions and inquires about the laceration, to which the Princess laughs it off as some slip-up while visiting the Nightosphere. He warns her of the danger with 'those people', stating that they can be vicious monsters. She concurs, continuing her trail down to the bust of her dress, saying that they can be gentle creatures as well. You remember the mark you made on her breast, right under the corset.

_'Why are you being such a sweetheart now?' A giggle._

_'You're so loud! I can't keep fucking this bed to pieces, Peppermint almost caught us last time.' You give a languid lick to the pale pink bud. _

_Lazy arms wrap around you. 'Let's do it on the ceiling again.'_

The memories kill you. Your love infects every inch of you, not daring to leave you to other thoughts. The thought of her sweet sweat plagues your memory and you heart begs you to take her, fly off and probe every inch of her. Force her to stroke you endlessly, come fiercely like an animal in heat, have her fold and collapse in exhaustion in the forest's moonlight. The Ambassador would never really know what that was like with Bonni. No one would, really. No one but you could understand the drunken interactions, the unavoidable gravitation that led to you milking each other for everything, or laying spent in a pile of mildewy rags on your mattress. He couldn't see the face she made- the one where her eyes flutter closed and her jaw drops open with gasps as she loses all pride and begs you to pump out her orgasm. He would never experience the exquisite shiver of her soaked inner walls with every occasional thrust in an especially good direction.

Your pants tighten at the zipper.

When the waltzes begin later on in the night, you lose all control and can't wait any longer. He grips her while dancing, and you shift into an invisible form. Your demonic abilities allow you to follow along with their movements while behind the Princess, stroking her stomach and cooing in her ear.

"He's had enough of you, it's my turn," you whisper harshly, low enough for him not to perceive. "It's my turn."

"I don't think so," she sings back at you, eyes closed, lost in your fondling.

"Excuse me?" The Fire Ambassador leans in, believing he'd missed Bubblegum speak.

"Oh, nothing!" she reassures him as you trail your cool hands under the slit of her gown, stroking the lace garments ornamenting her beautiful prize. Her voice tries to mask a gasp as she continues with, "I was just thinking of how we just started dancing, ha ha!" Her back arches in pleasure as you feel the welcoming throb of her clitoris. The ballroom is full of countless pairs of dancers, all of them carrying their own conversations. None but the Princess seemed to notice your presence.

You stretch the lace gently, allowing it to cause some friction against the moistening folds.

"Tell him you're going to the bathroom, don't have him wait for you." Your claw dips roughly into her. "Now, or you'll get it."

_'You, it's yours!' she pleaded, stretched out on your lap as you jammed your fingers into her from behind, pulled out, and lashed her bottom roughly with a spank before plunging back in. She tried to squirm off of your thighs, but you twisted her arms and locked them behind her back. Bubblegum whined and panted in protest, but you lashed her again._

_'Who do you belong to, who does this pussy belong to? Say it again," you growl viciously and repeat the process until she breaks in your arms completely, shattered in an unfathomable euphoria._

You hear her sigh in feigned disappointment, "Please have a good evening, Fire Lord."

"Fuck!_ Fuck!" _she whines with each merciless thrust as you thump against the ceiling of a custodial closet. Your regal jacket and tie lay discarded somewhere on the ground, along with the torn remnants of the Princess' damp panties. Her dress is pulled up above her ribs as her legs hang off of the ledges of your hips as you buck into her almost maliciously. Your arms and legs are outstretched, bracing against each wall of the closet, bracing yourself and gaining more leverage and momentum. Pinned against the ceiling, her core claps moistly against your soaking probe.

Her palms find your shoulders, lifting her chest up off of you, gaining a new angle. Scraping against a sensitive point inside the Princess causes her voice to be caught with a choke. You remove one palm from the wall and tear the rest of her dress down, revealing her bruised yet voluptuous breasts. They bobbed with every pounding you gave.

Not satisfied with this position, you float down a little lower from the ceiling. You grip her throat tightly, right under the jaw and press her against the ceiling, while placing a tight palm on her ass, cupping it roughly as you fuck her harder. She squeezes her own palms against your wrist, but by the unbelievable tightness she was providing, you did not let up.

With the sound of the door opening, you freeze completely. It seemed that an intoxicated guest had stumbled inside, looking for his coat. The Princess' breathing halted entirely as fear consumed them both. The guest fumbled about in a pile of coats, searching fruitlessly. The music of the ballroom echoed powerfully and resonated through the closet. A companion entered and offered the drunk some assistance.

"Why don't you turn on the light?"

Your demonic reflexes lead your palm to lunge for the lightbulb on the ceiling near you. You crush it to powder before the companion flicks on the light.

"Huh?" He tries the switch again. "Oh, well I guess it's broken..." The music masks the sound of the lightbulb popping and the sound of glass shards dropping. You pray to God, that your leaking fluids do not drip to the floor of the closet and spark suspicion.

Bubblegum whimpers helplessly while you are still inside her. You feel her erratic heartbeat throbbing in her loins.

"I found it!" The drunk holds up your cloak like a trophy. You scoff in unbelievable frustration as he makes off with your priceless uniform.

The door shuts, and she shrieks as you slam her against the top wall again, drilling into her at a relentless pace. She screamed in surprise and powerful, unequivocal shudders of pleasure tore through her. Her noises were masked by the partying that went on in the next room, but you couldn't let her off so easily.

"Do you know how much that was _worth?"_ You gave an especially hard thrust as she bobbed against the ceiling and moaned again and again, "How many spanks do you think you should get after _that_?_" _You revealed your deadly fangs fatally, threatening to reciprocate the event by swallowing the girl whole. She was getting so close, you could feel it, hear it, see it in her rolling eyes. You wanted to ruin her, soil every honorable part of her and make her crush her dignity, just to be fucked by you. But instead, you smirk, and with a harsh slap on her sore ass, you continued.

"Now, I deserve to come inside you," you whispered devilishly.

Immediately, she crumbled completely, shivering and convulsing, pumping herself over and over on your hardened length. "Please, _oh fuck,_ come in me! _Come in me!_" Naked except for a crudely shredded gown around her mid-waist, her beautifully bruised and battered body shook and trembled weakly. Each gyration sent ripples through her bouncing flesh. The disgustingly vulgar commands that tore out of her throat made your immortal temptation envision a night where you spotted a princess, tore her beautiful virtuous form into pieces and filled her with your cursed and vile seed. You inked and spilled all over her soaking insides until she fell limp onto your levitating form.

"Oh, oh," she panted and panted, face in her palms as she straddled your floating body, naked and leaking your cold tentacle ink. You pull out the limp member. "My dress, the suitor... What the fuck is wrong with me..." You giggle at her ethical conflicts, and watch her contemplate whether being plowed by an infamously evil and monstrous creature in a closet at a suitor's ball was a good idea or a bad one.

As you two try to work with your disheveled appearances, she finds another dress in the closet and claims that a drink was spilled on her when guests ask about the wardrobe change. However, you spot the Fire Ambassador out in the garden as you and the Princess walk, crying while wrapped in your heirloom cloak. He bawls to you, "Have you seen the Princess? Have you seen her?" until his drunken self falls over into the pond. You groan as she makes you _save _the loser, but at least she lets you fish out your uniform and take it home.

You lift her up and fly to her room when she claims her hips are practically crushed.

She giggles as you frown at the damp cloak clinging to you, kissing your cheek and circling your shoulders. "I love you, but you smell more like a wet dog than a royal steer!"

You make her pay for that later.

A/N -

This is my second time. I'm happy people said nice things to me to make me want to make another one, even though these things are just super romantic vicious porn ;n;

pls review, also sorry if i mess up on pronouns/present tense, damn I tried! haha.


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